


Quite A Pair

by Yosei



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Beta Mary, Case Fic, Deductions, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Hugs, Idiots in Love, John's Mustache, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlocked - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John, Omega Verse, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock Makes Deductions, pair of idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yosei/pseuds/Yosei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had been successfully living as a beta and getting used to finally being able to not live and breathe Sherlock Holmes, when the git decides that he can just waltz back into his life and expect a grand welcome. After the realization that it was "not good" to disappear for two complete years for any reason, Sherlock works to re-gain John's trust and a new case with multiple murders, baffling police with messages in lipstick, seems like a good place to start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Content

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolf_Wind_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_Wind_Song/gifts).



> Yeah. I did it again. This was supposed to be a one chapter deal... and then my brain imploded... exploded... melted. OTL  
> Sorry for not writing for so long, I have been having a little writing block ^^; (Also! Summary written at 1am, don't hate me QuQ)
> 
> Lovely omegaverse prompt given to me by Wolf_Wind_Song, I hope you enjoy~

John had been on a date, since his psychiatrist had begun to worry about how little John had gone out these days, with a kind beta named Mary. She was sweet and lovely with a tasteful body and stunning smile. She also had something about her that temporarily kept John's adrenaline-addiction slightly sated. So, all in all, she was a good woman. Too bad John was actually an omega and not a beta as he had been masquerading, but he liked her company none-the-less and outside of his heats, she was a nice fix to his starved libido and he a fix for hers. John's psychiatrist still worried that he wasn't really trying to put his all into getting out, but when he had met Mary, that all changed and he felt like the gaping hole in his chest was slowly being mended... until that fucking mop of curls made a dramatic entrance.

This date with Mary had been more special. After being with her for a while, he wanted to tell her about his true second-gender (as his psychiatrist recommended) and possibly make the relationship a bit more serious. Like hell that was going to happen, like hell he would be having a normal relationship, like hell he could be in love truly with anyone, but Sherlock bloody Holmes. And that's what John thought as he punched and strangled the genius in the middle of the restaurant, effectively getting them kicked out. This cycle repeated itself a few more times until they couldn't get kicked out of anymore places, John's fist hurt, and Sherlock was sporting a bloody nose. All at once, John felt the hole in his chest being torn even more as he fought to hold his emotions back and not break his friend's face. The only things that really registered were that Sherlock had deduced that John was an omega in the first restaurant (which was barely a quarter of the reason John threw the punch), Sherlock had deduced Mary (which she amiably soldiered through, unlike many of the genius' other victims), Sherlock had finally told him the truth of his 'horrid' mustache, that Sherlock would hear another rant about how John now wouldn't be able to get into several restaurants, and that Sherlock was back. Sherlock was back. Sherlock wasn't dead. And John had just punched the daylights out of him.

“I'm sorry, Sherlock.” John said in the cab after Mary had said goodnight and caught her own cab back home. John could feel those light eyes turn back to him and start searching his face for clues as to if he was going to get punched again. John let his body relax into a less threatening and angry posture. Sherlock let out a soft huff which was muffled by the mound of cloth he held to his injured nose. Another huff came that sounded like words, but were still muffled. On purpose. “Sherlock, you and I both know I couldn't hear that, so please speak up.”

“I'm sorry too, John.” He said as he pulled away the cloth and checked his no-longer bleeding nose. John didn't really notice much else than the great Sherlock Holmes apologizing. “I made a … miscalculation and let go of a piece of information I can see you wanted to keep to yourself.”

“Right.” John tensed a little at the thought of the conversation he would have to have with Mary, but it was unavoidable anyway. “How did you know that anyway?” John had felt his anger finally fade away to be replaced with curiosity. Sherlock smiled, despite the split lip.

“Simple. I know that you had been taking a medication which you had said was for you limp, but when I had cured it, you kept the bottles anyway so that meant you had something else to treat or were on suppressants I had given up my quest when you had told me it was 'a bit not good' to be searching through your room for them every time you left.”

“I kept them on me after I caught you half under the bed, searching the frame.” John knew he shouldn't be smiling, but the git had no sense of privacy. 

“A miscalculation, I thought you were at work, but I digress. I had found you in the restaurant with a woman—make-up perfected, dress chosen to insinuate best bodily features, leaning forward despite that she would be able to hear you perfectly across a much larger distance—who was sexually interested in you and smelled neutral, like a beta. You...” Sherlock pursed his lips, the only sign that he was feeling emotion, before he batted it away and continued. “were wearing your 'date attire' and looked as if you had put some more efforts into your looks to be charming,” Before John could take it as a compliment, he added. “but that mustache!”

“Really, Sherlock!?” John was angry—he thought he would look more rugged and handsome with facial hair—but it really didn't build up to anything accept laughter.

“Please shave it as soon as possible.” Sherlock gave a small smile and continued, again. “Being with betas would make things a lot more simple for you, since betas can't smell if you are an omega or an alpha, but being with one also made you careless since your omega pheromones are beginning to permeate and your hips shifted as I approached, so you missed your last dosage of suppressants” 

“Brilliant.” John smiled as he basked in the familiar feel of deductions that slid by the majority of the human race unnoticed, but Sherlock couldn't not see everything if he tried. Sherlock himself felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips as John complimented him; John was the only one who found him incredibly brilliant, amazing, fantastic, and every other synonym, even when he was eagerly punching him in the face. The military doctor was one of a kind, but as silence fell in the cab and they made their way back to 221B, Sherlock knew that another confrontation was about to boil over about his being gone, lying, deepening the lines on the doctor's face with mourn and worry. Once at the flat, Sherlock got out and John paid, following after him, but before Sherlock could actually form a smile at the automatic behavior, he opened the door to their flat and frowned at the packed boxes sitting everywhere.

“You were planning on leaving. Planning on, if all went well, moving in with that woman.” It wasn't a question and John shrugged off his coat, hung it up, and made his way to the kitchen before replying.

“I wasn't really sure, I'm still not, Sherlock. Mary is a wonderful woman and-” John ignored the sad look that only showed in his stunning mercurial eyes. “she has been very kind to me since... you left.”

“John.” The way he said his name wasn't just an apology, but a certain and very rare mourning of his own. That helped, that he wasn't a complete machine and felt bad about what he had done, but it wasn't enough.

“Two years. You have been gone for two years, Sherlock. Not a word, text, letter, or a single clue as to whether you were alive. I wanted to think that it didn't really happen. You made me come to terms with the fact that it did, you died that day. You died and yet I couldn't fucking bring myself to leave this place.” He gestured to the flat. “I thought that you would come back.”

“I did, John. I'm here.” The deep baritone of Sherlock's voice made the omega in him want to give in, to stop being so mad, the soldier in him told him to beat the answers out of Sherlock that he had been grasping at for two years, but the man—plain, old John Watson—wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. Before this evening, John was completely set on attempting a relationship with Mary, with leaving the flat and letting his wounds heal as the bullet-hole in his shoulder had. He knew that they wouldn't have been able to have children, due to their biology, but he would have been content with her company for the rest of his dreary days. Now? Sherlock was back. That brilliant idiot of a genius that had his running through London and shooting evil cabbies and nearly getting blown up in a vest from Moriarty, was back and John honestly didn't know what to do. He had gone through the grief, the frustration and had begun recovery work when all of that was torn down and John was left without a structure to compensate for the loss of his best friend. When he looked back to said friend, he could see the bruises darkening on the, very pale, skin of the detective. John grabbed an ice-pack from the fridge and slid it over the counter to him, but he was just staring at John with a blank expression and calculative eyes.

“What?” John finally asked into the prolonged silence. Sherlock shifted, lifting the ice to his face and pouting, much like a child. 

“You're upset.” Sherlock stated, and John suppressed an eye-roll. Sure, the man was a genius in a ridiculously wide range of subjects, but when it came to actual human emotions, to feelings, Sherlock didn't know what to do. Anyone else would have been more angry, would hate that their best friend couldn't even comfort them or send one bloody letter, but they weren't John. The soldier ventured around the counter to the detective and hugged him around his—too thin—middle. Sherlock would tease him for such sentiment, but the bloody wanker was back home and John could deal with the teasing for the reassurance it brought him to feel the genius just breathing in his arms. When he finally let go, he almost didn't catch the blush tinting Sherlock's cheeks before he turned away to examine a drawer of petri dishes that were perfectly undisturbed. John smiled and set to the task of making tea. Sherlock was almost out of the kitchen, on the way to his room, when he murmured something just under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John felt his smile really warm up his face as the genius did a familiar fidget, his outward tell of distress with emotions, and repeated himself before disappearing into his own bedroom.

“I missed you too, John.” That statement alone brought something back into place, something that had been knocked off course since The Fall. John wasn't sure what, but he knew he would figure it out sooner or later. For now, he was just... content.


	2. Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are back in 221B. Sherlock ruins the kitchen table and the boys get a case from Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM THE WORST PERSON EVER! I'M SO SORRY!! IT HAS BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I UPDATED! FEEL FREE TO BE UPSET QAQ. Anyway new chapter, enjoy~ Un-betaed~  
> PS. Added an original villain whom I named randomly. I don't mean to hate on anyone's name! (unless you're the chick who was mean to me heehee)

The talk with Mary... was not as bad as John imagined it would be. John had been dreading it since he had woken up the day after their ruined date. He walked into the chosen coffee shop they were going to meet at knowing that their end was inevitable. He knew that it would have happened even if Sherlock Holmes hadn't reappeared back in his life and flipped his world upside down again. He found Mary looking lovely and inviting in a window seat and took the chair across from her. 

“So, what's all this about you not being a beta?” Mary wasn't exactly furious, John could hear the amusement in her tone, but she wasn't exactly happy either. 

“Well,” John put his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and collected the words that he had planned to use yesterday. “I was going to tell you about it last night, but-”

“That alpha beat you to it?” She actually did seem genuinely amused this time.

“Yes, Sherlock. He was my flatmate two years ago and well, I didn't expect him to appear and start deducing...”

“My life-story?” she laughed lightly and John smiled. He really did enjoy Mary's company while he had it, she was a good woman who deserved more than an omega who couldn't give her children. “Listen, John. I knew you were an omega, you took a suspiciously long week away from me and looked as exhausted as any omega does after a heat. I was waiting for you to tell me yourself.” John's eyebrows rose at that, but Mary wasn't done and John couldn't help the internal cringe for what came next. “I really like you, John, but with the impossibility of lasting omega/omega couples and the almost nonexistent omega/female beta couples, we can't keep going on with this. I wish I could just say 'sod off' to biology, but I do want pups. I'm sorry, John.” The doctor gave a long exhale through his nose and pursed his lips. Rejection still hurts, even if you know it's coming. Mary gave him one last smile and a kiss on the cheek before leaving her empty coffee cup behind on the table, John staring for a bit at the pink lipstick smudge on the rim. After a while of letting the fact settle that he was once again single—as he'd like to believe was partially because of his roommate—he stood and left to make a trip to the store. Before John could really let himself wonder about his success at failing inevitably at relationships, he was met with a cloud of smoke steadily streaming from under the door of 221B. He dropped the grocery bags and felt the door with the back of his hand (still cold, so not a large fire) and burst into the room to find a familiar mop of curls and bug-like goggles dashing around some bubbling, smoking concoction on the kitchen table.

“Sherlock! What the Hell is going on here?! Open the bloody windows at least!” John coughed out as he threw the windows open and swiped an old newspaper back and forth to try an get the smoke to drift out and dissipate. It seemed that Sherlock didn't really hear him because he kept adding things in amounts that made John nervous as the liquid in the beaker started boiling even higher with loud cracking sounds. The alpha didn't seem to even notice the danger he was creating! The smoke coming from the experiment started to blacken, the sounds growing even louder and the smell more pungent. John's instincts kicked in and just as Sherlock added another vile to the mess, he tackled the alpha outside of the kitchen as the beaker exploded all over the table. After a few more minutes of resounding crackles, John dubbed it safe enough to prop himself on his elbows and stare down at the bug-eyed goggles. 

“Ever the good soldier, Captain.” Sherlock gave a sort of crooked smile, really just a twitch of the lip, since he knew he was in for a lecture. John was going to just keep yelling at him, especially since he just knew the kitchen table was ruined, but he couldn't find it in him to do anything but sigh.

“What was all that about then, hm?” John said as he moved the goggles off of the younger man's face to check for any visible oddities or reactions to whatever he'd been working on. John fully expected a tirade or rant about Sherlock's experiment being ruined or interrupted or some other bullocks.

“I'm sorry, John.” There. There it was, another apology.

“Really, again with the apologizing?” Sherlock flinched a bit. Probably worried about John finally leaving and all of that wonderful bullshit that would never really happen even if someone tried to drag the soldier away. “Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?” John smiled down at the silly git and watched his plush lips turn upwards in return. Sherlock eyed the kitchen table as best he could from the floor and heaved a great sigh as he let his head rest back on the floor and stared up at the soldier. 

“I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to drive Mary away. I know you planned a life with her and I shouldn't have...” the younger man drifted off with a cough and pout, so he did know he was to blame, at least a bit. “I just... didn't want to come to terms with any form of your permanent absence from Baker Street.” For just a moment, John saw a bit of the raw emotion that Sherlock had been bottling up (just playing up sociopath) for who knows how long, but then a little gleam came to the corner of his eye. “I didn't mean to blurt your private information. But I must say that if anything, John Watson, it is that I am not your alpha... You are more likely mine.” A show of remorse and a compliment. John was floored for a few moments, just staring into shining gray-blue eyes and breathing in his familiar scent, unable to come up with something intelligible to say, but then a sudden buzzing went around the room. John covered the alpha, prepared for another explosion, but Sherlock just huffed a laugh as he pulled out his lit up cellphone. A little embarrassed and more than mortified that he had been laying on top of his flatmate for such a long while without even noticing, John hastily stood (as fast as his leg would allow) and helped Sherlock up (whom was speed reading and typing out a reply with one hand).

“There's been a murder, John!” was all Sherlock said with a toothy grin as he whipped around and grabbed his trademark coat and scarf before storming out the front door. John knew he had about ten seconds before Sherlock made off in a cab by himself. He looked at the singed kitchen table, liquids not making any further bubbling movements, before grabbing his own coat and bolting after the genius. After all, he hadn't been on a single case in two years and he was not about to miss this one! “It's a five. Three middle-aged men—all alphas, killed execution style— in three different hotels, each of the bodies bound to a chair and placed in the center of the room with messages written across their altered faces. Nothing captured on camera.” Sherlock began explaining before John was even fully in the cab. By the time that they had reached the hotel of the latest victim, Sherlock had a number of theories for a list plastic surgeons, that John found all impossibly plausible, without even seeing the crime scene.

“Room 213,” Lestrade began as he walked the two of them to said room “has been the hot spot for this serial killer, but the victims booked the rooms, so without the cameras or any solid witness descriptions, this one's a ghost.” he said the last word sarcastically, obviously frustrated with his lack of evidence and three bodies.

“Ghosts don't exist. People who take bribes, on the other hand, do. Bring me the staff who worked this floor and-” Sherlock stopped his quick orders to glare exasperatedly at the forensic scientist examining the body“Tell Anderson to stop touching the body!” Lestrade begrudgingly, but not without a hint of humor, tells everyone to back off and let the detective work. John followed Sherlock and gave his own input on the body and confirming the obvious drug injection to the left side of his neck, the cause of death to be the single bullet wound to the head and, judging by the very slight scarring on both sides of the alpha's jaw, that his face may not really be his own. “And the message?” Sherlock prompted.

“'Remember me?'... Is this for..?” John read the lipstick marring the corpse's face and trailed off indicating the detective with his eyes. Sherlock nodded approvingly.

“The same note was written on all three victims. The murderer wants attention for some wrong done to them. I have multiple suspects in mind that are capable of this, but most are still in prison and those that are out do not have the capabilities needed to take down three wealthy alphas involved in the political circuit.” The more John looked, the more he did sort of recognize the corpse as one of the blokes he had seen on the news for some bill or another. Sherlock moved about the room, carefully analyzing things that John couldn't even hope to clearly see. Once finished he stopped in front of John, his hands laced behind his back as he began to relay his findings. “Body centered in the room to attract attention and, along with the message, send a threat. The Yard won't be finding any finger prints here, not with how neat the room was left despite the alpha's bigger stature to our female killer. That's where the drugs came in, of course.” At John's raised eyebrow, he elaborated a bit further “I know she is female because this brand of lipstick belongs to two women of which would have very much liked for me to refrain from nosing about in their business. Not to mention the size six heel imprints that haven't quite lifted out of the carpet. Which narrows our search down to the one woman with both gun-training and enough experience with surgery to know which medication to apply to quickly subdue an alpha.”

“Bloody brilliant.” John's smile, even small as it is, is almost blinding. God, how Sherlock missed that smile while he was gone. Before he could start staring for an awkward amount of time, he gave a smile of his own and turned on his heel to exit the scene, Lestrade throwing a million questions at him before he could disappear. “Now, come along, John. There will be one more body to find, and if we're quick, he might still be breathing.”

“I swear to God, Sherlock, if you go running into a serial killer's hands, I'll-” Lestrade's warnings were cut of as Sherlock reached over John to quickly shut his door to their, once again, magically summoned cab. He rattled off an address to the driver and with John's fond yet stern look, Sherlock frowned.

“I turned the tracker on both of our phones on. The entire Yard, although compiled with idiots, couldn't not find us if they tried.” John rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh at Sherlock's much-missed blatantly unfiltered words. By the time they had reached a hotel similar to the one they had just left, John had been filled in on most of the details. Dr. Jessica Cole—a beta plastic surgeon in her late 40s with a tendency to wear Rimmel London red lipstick—was the cause of a rather deep scandal involving four new politicians. It was a scandal because all parties involved were very bonded and after the fiasco all of them had seemingly disappeared, but they had just returned with new faces after threatening Dr. Cole to change them. Due to her suspicious bonded contacting Sherlock, Dr. Cole was exposed and her practice shut down, but none of the politicians could be linked to her since they had smartly severed all ties. As for the hotel room number, it was the thirteenth of February when her mate broke their bond and left, the most painful experience to ever occur in her life. In other words, three of the five people who ruined her bonded life are dead, she has one currently, and Sherlock as the fifth is bringing himself straight to her. 

“Are you mad!?” John yelled after Sherlock when he hopped out of the cab, leaving John to pay and sprint after him. Sherlock walked straight up to the front desk and after a rapid-fire explanation ending with 'or your hotel will be ruined', he obtained the key to room 213 from a trembling manager and sped off to the next floor, John hot on his trail, hand on his gun. As soon as they reached the door, perched on either side, John glared at Sherlock.

“Yes, I could have just told Lestrade, but time was of the essence. He'll be right behind us, I assure you.” he hissed under his breath as he listened intently to the door. A sort of muffled whimpering sound could be heard, along with the twisting of rope. Whoever was trapped in that room was alive, but for how much longer neither could tell. A pressured killer was a rash killer and might ignore their MO in favor of finishing their chosen victims quickly. On the count of three, John drew his gun, Sherlock unlocked the door and they burst through, ready to take down whatever threat was in the room, but there was no one else except a struggling alpha, drugged and twisting while bound to a chair. John checked the other rooms and closets just to be sure and returned to Sherlock texting instead of untying the alpha in the chair. The stranger eyed John pitifully from where he was with a glossed over expression. John made to untie him and check for injury, but Sherlock spoke up quickly. “I wouldn't do that if I were you. I know you've been on suppressants for a long while, but surely you know that every severely endangered alpha, especially in the presence of an omega, will become feral and attack every other living thing that is non-omega.” Sherlock's icy eyes snapped to John's face for a brief moment before adding under his breath“That would not end well for him.” John was about to question him when Lestrade and a team of agents burst into the room much as John and Sherlock had and after securing the area, a team of medics came to withdraw the mostly sedated alpha. Lestrade was already in a heated argument with Sherlock about him being difficult when John felt someone tap on his shoulder. 

“Hello, Mr. Watson, if you'd please follow me I'd like to take your statement.” A very pretty blonde officer explained before leading him out of the building where John leaned against the boot of the police car and waited for the lady to get her statement book from the passenger seat. Suddenly the trunk popped open and before John could form a response, a needle stabbed into his neck and everything went black.

-+-+-+-

“Where's that bloke Sherrr-lock!?” the alpha yelled as soon as the packing tape was peeled off of his mouth. “I g-gotta talk to him!” The medics grunted under the weight of the struggling alpha.

“What do you need from me?” Sherlock quickly followed the medics' path into the hall at the nearly drunken wailing of the alpha.

“'It's your turn to feel ripped apart' she said that. She said to say that and I'd be fine. Prettiest blonde you've ever seen.” the alpha slurred and murmured until finally passing out and letting the medics do their job. Sherlock stood stiffly as he processed this new bit of information. Dr. Cole was a brunette, one that would have been intimately recognized by the alpha, so why had he mentioned a blonde that he didn't seem familiar with?

“Stupid! Stupid!!” Sherlock hissed as he pulled on his hair. Of course the beta would have been more than capable of redesigning her own appearance to her new activities. Sherlock looked to John to spout this revelation, but found him gone. “John? John!” Lestrade came running around the corner and along the way kicked a small tube of lipstick near the doorway towards him. 'I win' was written in sharpie across the tube.

“Sherlock! Christ, what's on now!?” Lestrade called after him, but Sherlock was already sprinting down the halls and out the front doors to hale a cab. After all this time working, all the pain that Sherlock had gone through with getting rid of Moriarty, he couldn't possible fathom losing John like this. He wouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME FOREVER!!!


	3. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been abducted, Sherlock goes feral but must use his mind to find his omega, his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter folks, I am a jerk butt for making you wait so long!! Thank you for being so lovely QUQ If I don't post a fic at LEAST every two weeks from now on, feel free to mention it!   
> All of your comments and kudos have been a lifeline in my major college writing-block, thank you so much!!<3  
> Holy jeez this chapter got very long very fast OAO;

Piercing eyes, dark curls, a sharp mind and those ridiculous cheekbones. Sherlock. The git was always so stunning, bringing a whole new perspective to John's dark and pathetically boring life after the army. When the alpha had stood on the very edge of that rooftop and took the last step, John's world splintered and shattered as he reached and confirmed the bloody corpse himself. One last miracle. That was all John could ever hope for and for two years, John had to face that Sherlock wasn't coming back and had left him for some impossible reason. For two excruciatingly long years, he contemplated every scenario, blaming himself for not seeing what he needed to in order to help Sherlock, to maybe save him from a much too early end. Frustration and sadness haunted him in those years. Even when he was smiling, John could practically feel the thoughts looming just around the edges of his mind, surrounding him completely in place of the lost genius. But then, all in the same moment, John's wounds were getting ripped open and mended properly as he punched the living daylights out of the alpha, but also confirmed that he was alive, he was real. Sherlock was alive and back in his life. The thought alone brought a warmth to his belly and made him choke back tears as he could finally just laugh with his best friend again. 

John's eyes began to slowly creak open. The lights above him were searing and blinded him for a long moment. A hospital? As John's senses slowly began to return to him, he could slightly hear mechanical beeping sounds and his neck burned... shit, he had been kidnapped and by the damn serial killer they were looking for. The beeping, John realized was a heart monitor and it sped up slightly as John realized that he was very tightly bound to a bed and judging by his body's sluggish movements, still under the drug's influence. John stilled as heels clicked against familiar linoleum flooring.

“Finally awake are we?” The blonde officer from earlier asked with a tight smile on her face. As she turned her head to check the machines, John could just barely make out the little scars that led from the beta's jaw to her ears. Shit. So not only was he kidnapped by the serial killer, but she looks completely different and Sherlock wouldn't have recognized her. “Good, this will be a a lot better if you're awake for it.” and with that she unceremoniously shoved a needle into the crook of his arm and John cursed loudly as the woman giggled. An IV was set up to an unlabeled bag containing an orange liquid. John began to panic as the liquid made its slow descent into the drip chamber, down the line, past the clamp and into his body. He grit his teeth against the burning sensation that entered his blood and made his skin prickle with a painfully cold feeling in comparison to how his insides were heating up.

“What the Hell is that!?” John grunted as he tensed and yanked at his bindings with about the strength of a toddler. The answer he received created a painful shock that reached his very bones. The beta woman's face split painfully, in a vicious joke of a smile.

“Heatwave.”

-+-+-+-

Sherlock felt like a beast. He was a complete towering mass of snarling, raging alpha running through London in search of his mate. After a very tense cab ride to the last known residence of Jessica Cole, the cabbie sweating nervously and flinching the entire way, Sherlock had nothing. His nostrils flared in search of the familiar, lovely omegean scent mixed with blood, tea and gunpowder that made up John, and ultimately home, but there was nothing. He found nothing in the house and Sherlock snarled in frustration, wanting to rip something apart, wanting the blood of the wench who dared take John from him. He wanted her head and he would take it with his bare hands-

“No, no! Wrong-” Sherlock growled as he pulled at his curls harshly, trying to get his mind back in order. He was on the hairline edge of going absolutely feral and he knew that would do nothing to help find John. At the edges of his quickly deteriorating mind palace, he could vaguely hear Mycroft scolding him.

“Now, now, brother mine. Haven't I taught you better than this? Use your mind. Where else could a rouge doctor have taken a fully grown omega without being noticed..?” Sherlock felt his body still and the sensation of pulsing rage fade into the background as he scanned his internal map of London. Every hospital would have noticed an unconscious omega being taken into their establishment by a non-staff member. Dr. Cole had also been placed on the restricted list from any form of of her past practice, but... but to be able to stay under the radar for so long and get her own face changed, she must have had a large source of income. “From where?” Mycroft urged with a put out sigh. Her old practice. Yes it was shut down, but never demolished and if it wasn't bought—most likely not because of the last owner and her reputation—then it would still be very useful to an erratic serial killer with a vendetta. Sherlock hailed a cab and shot into it, barking out his destination and throwing money at the cabbie to get him to bloody well hurry. Sherlock shot a quick text to Lestrade to request an ambulance and silently prayed that it wouldn't be necessary. Images passed through his mind of his life, all the more brighter with John in it. While he was away in various countries, taking apart all that made 'Moriarty', and getting tortured in Siberia, John's face and voice, kept carefully intact in his mind palace, was all that kept him going. The thought of returning home, to John, is what kept his mind sharp even when he was beaten within an inch of his life. Along with his mind and solving crimes, John had made a place for himself in Sherlock's life ever since they first met and John killed to protect him. John had used every opportunity to keep Sherlock safe by any means, and Sherlock would return the favor and keep doing so until the end of his days. He belonged with and to John without even realizing what the soldier had meant to him until he had been taken away from him again. This would be the last time. As the cab neared their destination, Sherlock jumped out and sprinted to the back of the building where the doors were left open for him. He could smell John in the air, his distress, pain, and misery. Sherlock fumed as he raced after the scent trail down stairs and hallways, until he finally reached a bright emergency operating room and pushed the swinging doors open. The light burned compared to the dark halls, but he quickly adjusted and was almost knocked to his knees by the sight and overwhelming smell of John. His scent seemed amplified to it's fullest extent and then some, but there was something laced into it, pushing his scent glands to an extent that made Sherlock want to flinch away in pain. On the other side of the bed was Dr. Cole, smiling as she held an injection syringe, poised to give a last dose of an orange toxic looking liquid. Heatwave. Sherlock scanned John's body. He was still clothed in jeans and a shirt, but he was visibly sweating through all of it, his skin red and flaming as he struggled weakly against his restraints and whimpered in pain. By the sound of his voice cracking, Sherlock judged that he had been screaming for quite some time.

“Sher-” John mouthed his name, but just couldn't get his vocals to work through the entire thing as he cringed and curled in on himself as best he could in his bindings. Tears tracked down his face as he literally burned from the inside out as his body was forced into a dry heat, but it seemed as though the drug had been tampered to just hurt instead of send his mind away into a pleasure high.

“Holmes!” The beta snapped at him to gain his attention before she continued. “I'm sure you know what all this is.” she tapped a finger gingerly to the needle that she was holding. “After all the time I spent gathering up politicians and ultimately losing my mate... I'm going to pay you back a bit and with this last dose, your dear omega will die feeling some of the pain that I felt when you barged into my life and took my bonded from me!” She shrieked and jabbed her thumb down on the plunger, the orange liquid bubbling as it sped down the line and John's entire body arched as he screamed. Sherlock was across the room before he could stop himself and grabbing a fistful of fake blonde hair before slamming the plastic surgeon's head against the wall, effectively rendering her unconscious. Sherlock was about to begin solidifying her a more permanent status when a round of whimpering yanked his mind back into action, overpowering his ignorant alpha side in favor of the bright-eyed genius. Sherlock raced to the side of John's bed and quickly, but carefully extracted the harshly inserted needle from John's inflamed and bleeding arm. After disconnecting him from the erratic heart-monitor as well, he disinfected the puncture with supplies still laying about the room and began covering John in cold compresses. The Heatwave drug worked in two ways. It could be used to coerce an omega into a heat, much like a date-rape drug and an aphrodisiac laced together specifically for omegas. The second way, usually an accident or change in the chemical formula of the drug, can make the Heatwave too strong and scorch an omega's insides acidically while forcing their bodies to the limits of a heat without them actually having one. The only thing Sherlock could do was try to bring down John's temperature so that he couldn't reach that final burning point.

“Sher...lock!” John panted and squirmed, begging the alpha with his eyes to stop the pain, but there was nothing Sherlock could do at this point except wait. The anger that brought him as he carefully untied John from the bed, made him want to bash the woman's skull in, the alpha in him stupidly sure that he blood would be cold and icy enough to help John. The irrational decision was taken out of his hands as John keened and held onto his wrist just as a team of armed officers, led by Lestrade barged into the room. Sherlock snarled and let loose a roar as the only warning as he placed himself in front of John's bed, just daring them to come closer. 

“Stand down!” Lestrade called to all the officers before having most of them back out of the room. Two officers, both carefully selected betas, tip-toed around the edge of the opposite side of the room to retrieve the unconscious beta doctor, Sherlock eying them menacingly from his defensive position. Once the beta woman had been removed, Lestrade crept forward with his hands up and gestured slowly to the medics behind him with a stretcher. “Sherlock. These are doctors that know how to help John-” another growl ripped itself from Sherlock as the other man mentioned his omega. “Listen to me, Sherlock. We need to get John to the hospital, right now, and if you attack any of the people trying to help I will be forced to subdue you and you won't be able to stay with John in the hospital. Do I make myself clear, Sherlock?” Lestrade did not look much like an intimidating man, but when it came to the safety of others, he was a definite force that one did not want to go up against. Sherlock knew he could take the inspector in a dominance battle, but with another shift and weak whimper from John, Sherlock slowly backed down, watching the medics' every single movement. They carefully strapped John onto the stretcher and took him out to the ambulance where, for good behavior, Lestrade allowed Sherlock to go with them and another beta officer just in case of any slip-ups. Once John was secured, they all sat perfectly still under the weight of the detective's glare. 

-+-+-+-

John wakes up slowly for the second time to the burning of those damned hospital lights, but this time he's unbound and can smell other beta nurses and doctors as they swarm around the hallways just outside his door. He can also smell the smoky and delightfully spicy scent of Sherlock and his ridiculous amount of nicotine patches.

“Hullo.” John croaks, his voice rough from screaming at the searing pain the drug had caused. Now his body felt mostly numb, so they must have pumped it all out of his system. A flash of black crossed over him as he was enveloped in all of his scrambling alpha detective. John raised a hand and gently smoothed it over Sherlock's back. “I'm alright, love. Just really fucking tired.” John smirked down at Sherlock's curls as the detective buried his face in the omega's neck and scent, now untainted by the Heatwave. Sherlock started mumbling into his neck and John flicked at his head affectionately. “You damn well know I can't understand that.” Sherlock lifted his head slightly, the tip of his nose still on John's skin. 

“I was saying that you were out for two days after the doctors pumped your stomach and they'll have to keep you here at least overnight to check on you before you can be discharged.” John shifted a bit to be more comfortable under Sherlock's dead weight. He didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary, but with the way that Sherlock was clinging to him, he must have been in worse condition than he thought and the doctor in him won over his impatience. 

“Alright then. Just one more night and then we'll go home, yeah.” John spoke softly into Sherlock's ear and the detective nodded. With a look outside, John could see that it was already pretty late, but he needed to use the loo and get the horribly dry dust taste out of his mouth. By the time he was able to successfully unlatch himself from Sherlock, a nurse had come by on her rounds and helped unhook him from the monitors and a water IV, before going off to get him some real food to eat. John made his way to the bathroom (both the room and the bathroom being private, thanks Mycroft) and saw that a bag was already waiting for him. Inside was a set of his clothes that he could put on when he left tomorrow, a few toiletries, and of course... a razor. John threw his arms up and rolled his eyes. Seriously, the mustache was not that bad! He looked into the mirror to examine it and when the first thing he could think of was a mad caterpillar, he grabbed the shaving cream and dabbed it on before setting to work on grooming himself. Cleanly shaven, he had taken off at least a decade, his softer omegean features helping him look more attractive and young. He stopped looking at himself with an angry huff, already seeing the approving smile on Sherlock's face in his mind. After he rinsed out his mouth and clamored back into bed, the nurse returned with a simple pasta plate with bread and apple sauce so his stomach wouldn't get upset after so long without food. When the nurse left, John pulled and prodded Sherlock into the bed next to him (not difficult since he was already smothering himself against John's now completely soft face) and had him eat some food as well, since he knew as soon as he laid his eyes on Sherlock that the man hadn't left his side or eaten anything since he had been admitted. 

“John.”Once the plate was empty, John pushed the table, connected to the side of the bed, out of the way so he could turn on his side into Sherlock's warm and comforting embrace. 

“Yes, Sherlock.” John answers tiredly as the alpha's scent makes him go nearly boneless.

“I-I want to bond with you.” Sherlock says and it's one of the rare times where the genius detective sounds unsure of himself as he wraps himself tighter around the omega. John passes a hand through his dark curls and kisses the top of his head.

“I'm not a push-over.” John replies and waits because he is very aware that he is a far cry from the little home-body omegas that dote on their alphas and never challenge them.

“I know.” Sherlock hums against his throat. “Don't ever change.” After a moment he added. “I meant what I said before. Out of the two of us, you are the alpha, John.” The detective hid his face completely this time and let out a long shivering breath. “And I like it that way.” John didn't respond verbally, there was no need when Sherlock could practically read his mind, but he did tug Sherlock back from his neck for a moment so he could finally kiss those perfect cupids-bow lips before letting Sherlock hide his blushing face again. For the first time in a while (since The Fall if John was honest with himself) John was able to drift off into sleep without any worries or grief plaguing his mind.

-+-+-+- ;D

By the time John wakes up the next morning he can already hear another nurse talking softly with Sherlock over the basic guidelines of making sure that he eats and has plenty of fluids, etc. John sits up and shoves the blankets off of himself and fans his face because it is ridiculously hot for the morning. As he looks around the room blearily, he catches sight of the a window and its open with a cool breeze circulating around the room. Then why is it so damn hot? John moves to get out of bed and then freezes when he feels a fresh gush of slick slide down his thighs. John's eyes widen, panicking internally.

“Sherlock?”

“Just a moment, John.” He answers without looking, too intent upon knowing every detail necessary for John's complete recovery.

“Sherlock.” He repeated as he slowly began to pull the slick-soaked sheets from his arse and thighs.

“I need to make sure that you can recover just as well at 221B as in the hospital, John. If you'll just give me a moment.” Sherlock said sternly before returning his attention to the nurse.

“Sherlock!!” John yelled at the git and swayed as the alpha's smell along with every other second-gender's scent in the hospital heightened drastically. He could smell other alphas nearby and his stomach cramped painfully. John glared as he internally screamed at his body's horrible timing, but got dressed quickly nonetheless. “I'm going into heat!” Sherlock's head whipped around to stare at him with huge eyes as his nostrils flared. He pushed the nurse out and after closing the door, took off his coat and scarf to fasten them onto John. The coat pretty much swallowed him, but the clothes smelled like Sherlock and he let out a small moan.

“How could you be so stupid as to forget your suppressants!?” Sherlock growled as he gathered all of their things and began marching him out of the hospital, already nearly feral again with so many alphas in the vicinity of his very fertile, almost in heat mate.

“Really, Sherlock!? I was so bloody occupied with getting kidnapped and removing my facial hair that it slipped my mind! You arse!” John seethed as Sherlock hustled him into a cab.

“Where-”

“221B Baker Street!” Both Sherlock and John interrupted the cabbie and off they went speeding through London as they tried desperately not to touch each other, because once the heat started, no one was going anywhere until it was finished. Once back home, John was actually the first one out of the cab and Sherlock paid before following after his omega who was already half-way up the stairs. By the time they made it into the flat and slammed the door closed, lock an bolt, John was already half naked and on his way to Sherlock's bedroom, about to be christened as 'their bedroom', with the alpha not more than a few inches behind stripping as well. They had to pause in the doorway to the bedroom when John surged forward and kissed Sherlock, hard into the door frame, the alpha letting loose some sort of mix between a growl and a whimper as he panted the omega's name. 

“Come on, then. Let's go to bed.” John smiled up at him, his ocean-like eyes shining from under blonde eyelashes, and took his hand to lead him to the bed. With a grimace, John removed his pants that were completely soaked on the back with slick now. Sherlock surged forward, his stupidly tight purple shirt only half off, and pushed John onto the bed, covering him and kissing him as soon as his back hit the covers.

“John.” Sherlock moaned as he began to kiss his way down John's throat, nipping at his clean scent gland as both of his hands took John's knees and spread them, sliding down slicked thighs in a tease accordingly. John arched as Sherlock's plush lips and tongue lavished his sensitive nipples in calculated attention, the genius already completely set on finding every zone of pleasure on John's body and committing them to his mind palace. John's fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair and he couldn't stop himself from yanking on it a bit harshly when two of those long fingers slipped right into his body and he clenched down around them trying to pull Sherlock further in to the place in his body that he knew only the alpha's cock could reach and sate. 

“Stop the tease, Sherlock.” John hissed as a third finger was added and pumped into his twitching hole punishingly, but it wasn't near enough. He grabbed onto those luscious curls and yanked the alpha into a bruising and biting kiss. “Now!” John ordered as his body gave him more cramps from being denied. All at once, Sherlock pulled his long fingers free and John whined at the loss before groaning as the thick head of Sherlock's cock replaced them. As the pre-cum and slick coated length slid home, John's back arched almost painfully as the hot thickness of Sherlock's cock splitting him apart forced a long wanton moan from deep in his chest. “God, Sherlock!” John's breath hitched as Sherlock pulled back only to thrust back in to the hilt, his thighs creating a lewd smacking sound against John's arse. “Yeah, that's it-hah! Just like that.” When Sherlock began to really thrust in earnest, his eyes clenched shut and sweat on his brow from the effort, John could tell he was close and before Sherlock could get his teeth on his throat, the soldier quickly flipped them over, binding Sherlock's hands with the damned boner-inducing purple shirt and shoved his own shirt into the genius's mouth, effectively gagging him. John rode the alpha as he explained. “If you're... going to leave bites all over my-ayh neck, then I'm going to- fuck!- return the favor.” John slammed down onto Sherlock's cock and bit into the long, pale column of Sherlock's unblemished throat, breaking skin and whimpering slightly at the painful half-bond. He quickly un-gagged the alpha and Sherlock's hands, only half-bound really, grabbed onto his hips and dragged him down further, his knot popping past the rim as he came deeply into John's arse and bit into his scent gland in tandem. John let out a pitiful whimper as he went boneless, being claimed and filled by the man he had been pinning over for who knows how long. “Fuck.” John breathed as he licked at the mating bite he made and breathed in their uniquely mixed bonding scent.

“Indeed.” the smart-ass replied as he shivered under John's ministrations and tilted his head to give his new mate more room. 

“You know, while I'm in heat, I'll be taking all that I get get from your knot...” he rotated his hips and they both moaned at the movement. “But when it's all done and over with, I'll be the one fucking your brains out into next week.” John bit down sharply on the mating bite again, causing the alpha to moan and thrust his hips up, coming more in response. “Would you like that?” John asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, my John.” he kissed the omega breathless as he would for as many times as he could for the rest of his life. “My mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about a year an a half, finally done~ QUQ Thank you again for being so patient!


End file.
